Mike Worrall - The Trouble with Time, 2008

Am I too late to come back to you?

Why does the nib feel so uncomfortable gliding across your smooth surface? Shaky perhaps, unable to balance itself anymore. It lacks confidence, of expression, of what exactly it should feel. I have to take breaks in between, as my eyes grow blur and lines go awry. What do I want from life? I do not remember anymore. But of course not this. Not this reliance on others.

When did I grow this weak? When did I recede into this self-made shell? I am tired of empty talks. I hardly find comfort in anything anymore. I have stopped blaming – my parents, my circumstances, destiny or myself. But have I hugged myself completely? No.

I never want to come back to this day. I don’t want to read what I am writing today. By becoming a commercial writer, I have lost the glory of both the tips – of my pen and of my brain. It’s not even the iceberg situation. There is nothing below the surface. My glow is just hollow. It’s just shining there. But do I care? Is it doing any good? What is that robbed off its brightness? I want it to do good. Why? Is it because I want to be remembered? Is it because I want to feel good about myself? Is it because I don’t want to die leaving nothing behind? No remnant to rejoice I mean. Or what is it? Where will I get peace? Within.

Dive down into the depths. I hide there. Waiting for you to reach out and touch me and make me your own. Write your own story.

I have an amazing mother. She’s so strong, beautiful, magnificent and glorious. I run out of adjectives (or enthusiasm?). Maybe that’s the reason why I detest seeing her as a weak victim of her circumstances. She is almost like a deity to me – a power core to be secretly worshipped. Like god, she can’t succumb to weaknesses. She should not crib. I don’t want to encourage her victimhood.

Why should anybody love you because of your weaknesses? Everybody should appreciate your strength. But isn’t that untrue? Isn’t that a false claim? Aren’t we all made of conflicting atoms? Like if we didn’t have a body, won’t our blood gush out everywhere? Won’t our flesh fall off? Won’t our brain melt down and our guts hang loose? We are containing such a conflict within the territory of our own body and mind. Then why do we choose only to see one side of it?

Is it because order gives you an opportunity of comfort? An opportunity to think everything is right? Like it was meant to be? Like it should have been?

Why? Who said? Who proved? What will I believe in? In something others say? In something others say that I believe in? In facts, figures, feelings, logic or emotions? I have a long way to accept things. I can’t accept as they are. I can’t pass them by as if they don’t matter. They do. Even a little ant, a bug, a gravel or something big like a shining sun or a falling-apart earth. I will respond to every fucking change around me. Without shame. Without being inked weak because I do.

I am NOT weak.

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Written by Shreya Nandy

‪#‎BeBravelySincereWithYourself‬
30DaysChallenge. DAY 13.
“Have you ever experienced bullying, damaging criticism or lost your confidence in yourself?”

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